


For He's A Jolly Good Fellow

by AutumnHobbit



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, Slight Hurt/Comfort, Tooth-rotting levels of fluff, batfam, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 10:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10762275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnHobbit/pseuds/AutumnHobbit
Summary: anonymous said: All the batfam finally bonding and forgiving each eather thanks to alfred birthday wish.____





	For He's A Jolly Good Fellow

**Author's Note:**

> I guess imagine this takes place at a point where they're not trying to kill each other but not necessarily getting along, either.

For once, Bruce woke up early on his own–this time, by design. He blinked bleary eyes at his alarm clock. The bright red numbers read 4:53. The sky outside his window was glowing faintly from the lights in the city, and he could hear the birds beginning to make noise outside.

With a stifled groan, he pushed himself up onto his elbow, slowly climbing out of bed and heading for the shower.

He had a lot of work to do to prepare for the day.

___

Dick had gotten in from the night shift a bit late, and had gone straight to bed, but he woke bright and early at 6:45. His subconscious had been super-paranoid about accidentally forgetting, so he woke with a jolt that was less than pleasant. He heaved an exhausted sigh, but pushed himself up out of bed and grabbed a shirt. He didn’t plan on being home until suppertime, anyway, but it never hurt to be prepared and get an early start. He had a bunch of errands to run beforehand. Today was the day.

____

Jason woke up when the first rays of sunlight lit up his apartment bolthole–he’d accidentally pulled the curtain down three days prior while trying to climb in after getting a laceration down his forearm. He growled squeakily at the harsh light, rolling onto his side and lifting an arm to try and shield his eyes, but he accidentally lifted the injured one and hissed at the pull of the stitches. He gave up, dropping his arm with another growl. He threw his covers off and rolled off the mattress onto the creaky tile floor. He pulled himself to his feet on the rickety linoleum counter and staggered into the kitchen, washing his hands and then dragging out various containers of dry ingredients.

He had a lot of baking to do before this evening.

___

Tim woke up in a panic at 9:34. He’d stayed up too late the night before, running through the latest investments and tax brackets with Tam (though she, being an altogether better person, had quit at 11:00 and gone home.) But he sighed in relief once he’d scrambled desperately for his phone and checked the time. Good. He’d have plenty of time to spare for everything that needed doing. He hopped out of bed, landing haphazardly on one foot and pivoting to quickly make his bed. One less thing to worry about. With that, he snatched a change of clothes and high-tailed it to the shower.

He had a lot of work to do before tonight.

___

Damian woke up at 8:13, but stayed in bed much longer than he meant to, just watching the clock lethargically, with nothing to pass the time but the growing brightness outside, the quiet clicking of the clock, and the dull throb in his heart.

He knew what today was; he’d noticed it on the calendar, had marked it himself and counted the days and brainstormed and plotted. But he was certain there wasn’t a single thing he could do today that one of the others wasn’t already doing, and he couldn’t for the life of him come up with an appropriate, unique gift for so important a person.

Alfred came trotting in cheerfully at 8:26, leaping onto the bed lightly and nudging Damian with a cold nose, purring softly.

“Tt,” Damian huffed, freeing a hand from the blankets to stroke the cat’s head. “At least you are in a good mood today, Alfred.”

Alfred mewled quietly and pressed up against Damian’s face, nuzzling him to encourage him to keep petting.

“I am a failure as a grandson,” he admitted to the cat in a low voice. “I haven’t the slightest idea what to give Pennyworth.”

The cat simply clambered up on Damian’s hip and began walking in a circle.

“There is bound to be something I can give him!” Damian flopped back against his bed. “I only wish I knew what he liked. And that I had a relevant talent…”

Alfred mewled, curled up on Damian’s hip.

“Perhaps…” Damian wrinkled a brow. “Perhaps I do have an idea. That might be…tolerable. Yes.”

Damian sprang off the bed. The cat scrambled off his hip with a whine.

“Apologies, Alfred!” Damian called behind him as he ran off. “But I have work that needs doing!”

____

 

At 9:00 sharp, Alfred emerged from his room in the corner of the house, clad in slippers and his house robe. He headed down the hallway, whistling softly, and stepped into the kitchen.

Bruce stood at the counter, loading sizzling food from the skillet onto a plate. He grabbed the salt and pepper shakers and sprinkled a dose of the seasonings onto the food, then turned with a half-wry smile. “Morning, Alfred.”

Alfred arched an eyebrow with a half-smirk. “Morning Master Bruce. And what might that be?”

Bruce grinned. “A full breakfast, of course.” He set the plate down on the island and shoved it lightly over towards Alfred. It slid to a stop right beside the glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice and the bowl of fruit, cut neatly. “Bacon, eggs over-easy, sausage, grilled tomato, mushrooms, toast and marmalade, and a cuppa Earl Grey.” He glanced down a bit, almost shyly. “As always.”

Alfred allowed himself a fond smile for the man. It seemed like it had only been yesterday when he was barely twelve and had taught himself how to cook some of Alfred’s favorites with a recipe book. The food had been undercooked in some places and scorched in others, but Master Bruce had made it himself and done it out of love, so Alfred was grateful. (Though it was nice to have properly cooked food, now.) With that in mind, he pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. “And as always, you have my gratitude for that, Master Bruce.” He picked up the fork which was placed neatly beside the plate.

“I’ll be around the Manor today, so no chores.” Bruce fixed him with a stern look. “We can survive a day without them. And I will see you.”

Alfred sardonically raised an eyebrow. “Why, Master Bruce,” he said. “What sort of butler would I be if you could see me?”

____

 

Dick wandered through the aisle of a department store at 10:00 in the morning, examining various hats and handkerchiefs. After the third identical wool flat cap in slate instead of heather grey, he sighed.

A girl passed by his aisle and then hesitated, ducking back in. “Morning! Can I help you find anything?”

“Maybe,” Dick sighed. “I don’t know. I’m looking for a birthday present for an elderly British gentleman, but I buy him the same thing every year and I kinda feel bad about it.”

“Hmmm.” The girl came closer, glancing at the flat cap in Dick’s hands. “What does he like?”

“Well…” Dick sighed. “He’s not picky. That’s kind of the problem. I know I could buy him anything and he’d be happy with it because it was from me, but I…want to get him something he’d really like on its own merits, you know?”

“That’s always hard,” the girl agreed, wrinkling her nose.

“I’m not buying him food, because he could cook or order anything he wanted, I can’t do charity because my younger brother’s doing that already, I can’t do chores because my dad’s doing that, so. I’m stumped.” Dick sighed, setting the cap back on the shelf.

“What about practical things?” The girl asked. “Is there anything he uses a lot?”

 _Bandages, blood, medical tubing,_ Dick thought, but didn’t say.

“–Or anything he likes particularly?”

Dick sighed. “Not that I know of–?” Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. “I, uh. Thanks so much for your help, but I think I need to stop by the hardware store!” He started to run off, but then ducked back in to grab the slate flat cap. “I’ll, uh, get this, too,” he said sheepishly.

____

Tim flipped quickly through the thick stack of papers, scanning the endless stream of words with a critical eye. “You sure you’ve got everything in there, Lucius? Nothing else I need to sign to make it official?”

Lucius gave Tim a slightly-stern but warm look from behind his glasses, perched on the bridge of his nose. “Nope. It’s all in there. Paid in full. Everything’s good to go.” He nodded towards the stack. “You gonna tie a ribbon on it or something?”

Tim shook his head with a wry grin. “Nah. Put it in a box, I guess.” He stood up. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it, Lucius. There’s no way I could have gotten it done in time without your help.”

“Oh, don’t mention it, Timothy,” Lucius waved a hand dismissively. “It’s my pleasure for all you do around here. And for all Alfred does. Do give him my regards and best wishes.”

“Will do. Tell Tam I said hi,” Tim said with a smile, waving as he headed out the door.

____

 

Damian madly dug through a stack of boxes in the west library, setting them down in a stack on the floor. Finally, he found the box he was looking for and dropped down onto the floor, crossing his legs as he sat and dug through the box. The photos were glossy, and he handled them carefully as he sifted his way through, stacking potential candidates neatly beside him. Finally, he had a satisfactory collection of photos. He slipped them into an envelope to protect them, and hurried back to his room. He only had a few more hours to complete his gift.

____

At precisely 4:52, the hall window opened from the outside and Cassandra slipped in. Alfred heard her entry from the sitting room where he sat with a book and a cuppa, enjoying the quiet late afternoon. He rose from the chair when she came into the room. “Cassandra,” he said warmly.

“Hi,” Cassandra replied with a beam, stepping forward and into his open arms. “Happy birthday,” she whispered, carefully and deliberately, and Alfred smiled into her slightly-tangled black hair.

“Present now?” Cassandra asked.

“If you wish to give it to me now,” Alfred replied easily, and Cassandra pulled back with an impish grin, digging in her belt. Alfred held out his hand, and she deposited a tiny, resin statuette of Batman seated in a miniature rocking chair.

“And wherever did you find this?” Alfred asked, not bothering to hide his grin.

“Cracker Barrel.” Cassandra bit her lip, she was grinning so hard. “With Barbara.”

“Well done,” Alfred said approvingly. “Onto my nightstand it goes.”

___

 

At precisely 5:15, Alfred was seated at the set dinner table, Cassandra sitting a few chairs down, waiting patiently for Bruce to finish with supper. Alfred took a sip of his wine. Cassandra obligingly took a sip of her chocolate milk and grinned at him.

The front door opened and closed with a colossal bang, and Dick came running in. “Alfred!” He cheered happily. “Happy birthday!” He pulled the older man into a hug without ceremony, hands still full of bags. Alfred returned the hug, nonplussed. “Thank you, my dear boy. It is wonderful to see you.”

At that moment, the garage door opened and closed with a thunk, and Tim was skidding to a stop in the middle of the kitchen, a bag in his hands, panting. “Sorry I’m late, Alfie, I swear I meant to be earlier but traffic was bad and I had some things to finish off at the office–”

“Oh, don’t make a fuss about it, dear boy. The important thing is that you’re here.” Alfred reassured him, and Tim sighed, setting his bag down on the counter and taking a seat at the table in between Dick and Cass. He sniffed curiously. “What is that? It smells fantastic.”

“Roasted lamb in onion sauce with fresh vegetables and bread,” Alfred said proudly.

“I…didn’t know Bruce could cook that,” Dick said, mystified.

Alfred laughed. “Master Richard, I will admit that domesticity is generally not Master Bruce’s area of expertise, but I would not have allowed him to reach manhood without teaching him _something.”_

At that moment, the window jiggled, and as one the children turned to stare, though Alfred took another sip of his wine, completely unconcerned. A basket that smelled of warm bread was tossed lightly through the window onto the floor, and slowly but surely, Jason Todd awkwardly followed, dressed in torn jeans, worn-through sneakers and a clean t-shirt, through the window that was slightly too small for him.

“I was wondering when you’d be by, Master Jason,” Alfred said, sounding distinctly unsurprised.

“Sorry it took m’ so long, Alf,” the boy responded tightly, one foot on the ground now, as he attempted to unsnag his other leg from the window. “Ruined the first batch ‘cause I stopped a mugging.” He finally got his foot free, and hopped down onto the floor, scooping up his basket and setting it on the counter with a flourish, stoically ignoring the stares of his brothers as he scrubbed a hand through the bangs that were falling over his eyes.

“What on earth happened to your arm, young man?” Alfred pushed back from the table and approached Jason before the boy could react, pushing back the sleeve to reveal the stitches.

“Glass,” Jason responded. “S'nothing, really.”

“Well at least you had the sense to stitch and cover it,” Alfred sighed, gently shifting the limb in his hands to inspect it. “No sign of infection. And it had better stay that way,” he said, fixing a stern gaze on the boy. “I will not stand for you coming down with a fever or sepsis.”

“Yes, Alf,” Jason mumbled softly, ducking his head.

The door to the kitchen opened, and Bruce emerged with a tray of lamb in hand. He froze as he took in the sudden surplus of his family in the room, stiffened slightly upon seeing Jason, and finally fixed a confused look on Alfred.

Alfred sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “My birthday wish—if you _must_ know, since you’ve all been nagging me—is to have my whole family safe and under this roof, not killing or injuring each other or arguing about complex moral philosophy. I believe, after thirty years of service, Master Bruce, that you can manage that for one evening.” He glanced back at the table—Damian had quietly slipped in and taken a seat across from Dick, Tim, and Cassandra. “Can’t you?”

The children all resoundingly agreed, in an immensely confusing and loud manner. Alfred turned back to Bruce, who looked surprised, and then shrugged.

“Very well then, it is settled.” Alfred said calmly, resuming his seat. “Master Jason, do sit down,” he directed towards the boy, who was standing and looking very much like a skittish animal.

Awkwardly, Jason slid into the seat beside Alfred, across from Dick.

___

 

After the first bit of awkwardness passed, the chatter at the table started up and didn’t stop at any point through the meal, except to truly appreciate Jason’s homemade scones and clotted cream, at which point there was an entire five minutes of no sound but chewing. Once supper was thoroughly finished, and the dishes had been washed and set on the rack to dry, the entire group moved to the living room.

“Do you want to go first, Timmy?” Dick asked, when everyone was settled in.

“Nah. You go ahead, you seemed excited.” Tim smiled easily.

“Alright.” Dick snatched his pile of shopping bags and ran closer to where Alfred was seated in an armchair.

“So, I got you…a flat cap,” Dick said impishly, retrieving said item from one of the bags.

“In slate this time, I see,” Alfred said, bemused.

“Yep. Buuuut…” Dick grinned. “I also got you a very bright lamp to use down in the Cave, because I noticed how worn out the current one is.” He tugged the large box out of a plastic bag surrounding it, setting it down on the floor.

“That is a most thoughtful gift, Master Dick,” Alfred said warmly. “It will certainly spare me many headaches.” He opened his arms, and Dick happily accepted the hug. “Thank you, dear boy.”

“You’re welcome,” Dick said, almost shyly.

“Master Timothy, would you like to go next?” Alfred asked over Dick’s shoulder, noticing Damian’s reticence.

“Sure,” Tim shrugged, grabbing his own bag. Dick moved to the side and sat down, waiting expectantly.

Tim awkwardly cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, digging a stack of papers from inside the bag. “So,” he said, his voice sounding vaguely businesslike, as if  he was giving a presentation at Wayne Enterprises. “As per your usual request, I made a donation of $10,000 to the Thomas and Martha Wayne Recovery House. However, I also added a bit of an extra touch; the new community room will be dedicated in memory of Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis Pennyworth. And,” Tim went back to his bag and retrieved a plaque, “here is a copy of the sign that certifies it.”

Alfred accepted the plaque with misty eyes, and Tim gave a soft yelp when he was pulled into a hug of his own. “You are a remarkable boy, Master Timothy. Don’t ever believe differently.”

“…Okay, Alfred,” Tim said a bit awkwardly, still fully cooperating in the hug. After a moment, Tim was released and Alfred, with a final pat to his shoulder, glanced at Damian, who was hunched over in his seat, studying his hands and decidedly not making eye contact. “Master Damian?”

Damian glanced up and met Alfred’s gaze once, then looked away, eyes slightly glassy.

“Now there, Master Damian,” Alfred said gently, crossing the room and kneeling down in front of the couch. “None of that. What’s the trouble?”

Damian glanced up, nervous and hesitant. “I…I couldn’t think of anything,” he half-choked. “Nothing as good as any of theirs! Nothing…” his voice dipped. “Nothing you deserved.”

“Oh, Master Damian,” Alfred gently tilted the boy’s chin up. “You are my grandson. I would be pleased as punch with anything you gave me.”

Damian blinked. “You’re just saying that,” he said tiredly. “You’re too kind, so you would enjoy anything, regardless of whether it was good or not.”

Alfred shook his head. “Show it to me anyway.”

Damian gave a small, shaky sigh, then stood up and retrieved an envelope from the coffee table, then sat back down, turning it back and forth in his hands.

“I…I didn’t have much time to work on them,” he breathed, sliding a piece of ivory cardstock down into his hand. “They’re not very good, but…”

Alfred quietly caught his breath at the inked sketch of a ten-year-old Bruce’s profile, a quiet, fond smile playing on the edges of his mouth. He lightly tugged the stack from Damian’s loose grip, and slowly, almost reverently looked them over. A rough sketch of Dick at eight, upside down on a trapeze, laughing joyfully. One of Jason reading a book, curled up in a too-large chair.  Tim sprawled on the couch, Cassandra sitting on the stairs.

Damian said nothing, his face flushed and his expression anguished, in a way only a ten-year-old’s could be.

“Master Damian,” Alfred said, hushed. “These are some of the most kind gifts I have ever received.”

Damian’s green eyes snapped up, shocked. “…Truly?” he asked, tentative, and Alfred bit his tongue against a very rude thought towards the al Ghul’s.

“Truly,” he said. Damian leapt for him first, and he caught the small boy and wrapped his arms around his tiny body.

Damian buried his face in Alfred’s neck. “Happy birthday, Grandfather,” he whispered hoarsely, and Alfred closed his eyes against tears of gratitude.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr: autumnhobbit.tumblr.com


End file.
